Smokin' it out
by StarsOfYaoi
Summary: *CubaCanada* request-fic for tracklightsky. Smoking cigars is an art that Canada has yet to learn. Let alone like. Let's not even mention joints, then.


**SOY:** another requested short fic. This time it's Cuba and Canada :) the prompt was, Cigar VS Joint. Please enjoy this fail.

**Warning:** I decided to use a human name for Cuba, since he has none that I know of. I chose Andrès because I think it fits him. It was either Andrès or Carlos, and I preferred the former. Please accept my choice :)

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**Rating**: R for drug use.

**Warnings:** A kiss.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Hetalia.

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**Smokin' it out**

**One–shot**

"I tell you, smokin' is an art" Cuba stretched his back awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable position, teeth clenching around his cigar, breathing in a good mouthful. Slowly, almost reverently, he puffed the smoke out, allowing his lungs to burn and release the tobacco. "You are just unable to appreciate it" he added, rolling his eyes.

Canada frowned, munching on some croquetas,, but did not answer.

The two of them were sitting together on the stairs leading to a beautiful church in Havana, Cuba, and were currently in the middle of a very meaningful, deep conversation whilst eating some of the traditional, and definitely delicious, Cuban food.

Meaningful conversation that moved from Cuba's hatred towards America, to Canada's own frustration at his twin brother, to, of course, cigars.

"I tell you, it is rather unappealing, and staring at you smoking isn't making me any more inclined in trying out myself" Canada sniffed, gulping down some cocktail as he did so.

He had been rather reluctant on alcohol as well, but Cuba had been strangely good at convincing Matthew he could get used to cocktails as long as he tried them. And he had been right, the one he was sipping from was fairly tasty, together with the strange food.

"What did you call this?" he asked, lifting one small ball in one hand.

"Those are _papas rellenas_" Andrès replied, easily gulping down some of his alcohol despite the cigar still lodged between his lips. "Anyway, I can understand you not smoking those… cigarettes… but that's a _cigar_" he held the one he was smoking between his tanned hands, showing it to Canada, as if expecting the other to see the light and repent.

"Talk as much as you wish, I won't try it" Canada rolled his eyes, finishing off his food and gulping it down with the last of his mojito.

Cuba sighed in dismay, because cigars were like… heavenly creations, and he _did_ want to make Canada understand that.

Of course, he just _knew_ how to convince Matthew to try out his cigars.

"Hah. As much as I hate that America, at least he would have the guts to–"

He didn't even need to finish the phrase, as Canada had stood up, wobbling a bit because he had downed three cocktails in a row, and yanked the box of cigars Cuba had placed next to him on the stairs, grabbing one of them.

"I'm not a wuss! Well, ok, I might be meek, but definitely I'm better than America! I'm Canada!" he yelled.

Kumajirou lifted his head, from his spot next to Matthew, and murmured a quiet "who?" that was pointedly ignored by both nations.

Slowly, as if to make a point, Canada gnawed on one end of the cigar, wincing at the disgusting taste, and opened his hand, silently asking the other for a lighter. Cuba rolled his eyes, holding out his red lighter.

"That's not the proper way to–" he started, but Matthew growled at him (frustrated and quite not scary) simply snatching the lighter away.

Cuba watched, completely horrified, as Canada ruined a perfect cigar, gulping down a puff of smoke and promptly starting to cough his lungs out; he reached up, feeling a pang of regret, and took it away from the nation, slapping hard his back and waiting for the coughing to subside, shaking his head in sadness.

Really, that poor cigar…

"Urgh!" Canada felt tears fill his eyes, his throat and mouth and everything inside burning.

It was plainly disgusting, _oh so disgusting_! The smoke, the burning sensation, the smell of the cigar…

"That's what you get for being too hasty!" Cuba offered him another shot at Havana Club, that Matthew hurriedly refused, running towards the closest café in order to get some water. Cuba didn't move, grimacing at the smothered cigar in his hands, and sat back down, waiting for the other nation to come back.

It took him around ten minutes, and in the meanwhile, Cuba had already finished both his cigar and the ruined one, biting out the end of it and lighting it the proper way, and was already moving to something less precious but still equally satisfying –a joint.

Yes, they were of course illegal. And yes, it was terribly bad for the Nation himself to actually go against the law. But who cared.

"I'm back…" Matthew murmured, pouting and wobbling back towards his friend.

"You, who?"

"It's Ca–na–da, Kumajirou…" really, Matthew felt like crying again.

Flopping down next to Cuba, and grabbing the previously refused cocktail, Canada decided he could at least down his depression in alcohol like England always did. "Really, it was disgusting" he whined, pushing his glasses up. "The taste! How can you even like that… Andrès, are you even listening to me?"

Matthew looked up, and blinked at the sight –Cuba was leaning backwards on the stairs, relaxed, with a cigarette in his fingers, taking leisured drags from it and keeping the smoke in for a long while, exhaling it slowly.

"… is that a cigarette?" Canada moved forwards a bit to inspect the obviously hand–made cig, and frowned. "Wait, didn't you just insult cigarettes, only to–"

Cuba's eyes opened and he grimaced. Matthew sometimes was a bit of a pain in the ass, and yet he had no will to indulge him this time. His joint was already making him relax, and he was fully determined in enjoying it.

He leaned upwards, grabbing Matthew by the back of his head and pulling him against his chest.

Ignoring the spluttering that resulted from his action, Cuba took a long puff and tilting up Canada's face, he joined their lips together.

"Mmmphhhh!"

Under the vaguely uninterested eyes of Kumajirou, Cuba pressed further, nibbling at Canada's lower lip and making the other gasp and open his mouth; when Matthew did so, Andrès pushed his tongue inside and exhaled the smoke of the joint, keeping their lips sealed together in order to not allow any of the precious herb from wasting out.

Canada flailed around, cheeks flushed in shame, both vaguely pleased at the touch and also terribly embarrassed, but unable to push away; in the end he was forced to actually gulp the smoke down.

Barely aware of the lips now leaving his, Canada fell on the ground, coughing his lungs out again, but this time, wheezing for an entirely different reason.

Things… things felt _different_.

Glazed over eyes looked up, and Canada blinked. The street… it was so bright all at sudden! And the stones were _so_ grey. And everything looked like it was so beautiful!

And he just felt terribly relaxed. His tense shoulders were a mass of goo and he sat up, eyes half–closed, enjoying the feeling; _I should relax more_, he thought. Then, his brain caught up with what he was feeling, and pouted.

"T–that was a… a…" Canada knew, or a part of him did at least, that he should have felt utterly pissed off for what Cuba had done, but… "That was a _drug_!"

"A joint" Cuba countered, able to reign control over the drug's effects due to his long use of it to relax. "It surprises me you even know what they are!"

Canada's pout intensified. He had received only a mouthful, so he was still able to think somewhat clearly (maybe), and yet…

He _did_ feel good.

Slumping on the ground, Canada blinked warily. He had never actually tried a joint ever before, because his inner self bristled at mentions of drugs, but… but…

Oh, did it feel awesome, to feel everything roll by over him and leave him unchanged, and how rough and _real_ the ground and pebbles felt under his cheek and neck. How good the wind against his skin felt, and how delicious the food next to him looked.

"I'm kickin' yah when t' gets over" he mumbled, but didn't refuse when Cuba waved the joint at him, fumbling with his vaguely heavy hand to grasp at it and bring it to his lips.

The other way to absorb the drug felt funnier right now, but he didn't really want to risk that any more.

"You taste sweet" Cuba muttered.

Yes, definitely, he had to kick him good. Afterwards.

…………………………

"You're making it out into something bigger than it is" Cuba rolled his eyes, trying to distance himself from the fumbling Canadian, who was spluttering and attracting the attention of the locals.

"B–but you drugged me! A–and the way you did it…"

"I told you, don't make it like a problem. You looked like you needed to relax, so I had you relax" Andrès bit on his next cigar and flared his lighter, puffing some smoke out. It looked like Canada would not let it rest. Damn it.

"B–but…"

"Did you like it?" Cuba wasn't clear about what he was asking about, but his stare was fixed in front of him, and he was not looking at him.

Matthew fell silent, flushing.

Actually, the correct answer would be yes for both, but he wasn't willing to admit either; the kiss because, apart kissing his brother on the cheek, or sharing a similar kiss with England and France, especially when he was younger, he had never kissed anyone _on the mouth_. And the joint because…

It made things feel less heavy. Less troubled.

As if nothing truly mattered.

He was always so tense, trying to make himself seen, trying to make others see him as _him_, and not as America, and it felt good to just drop back and _relax_…

"If sometimes you want to enjoy a good smokin', you can always come here" Cuba added, peering at him with the corner of his eyes. "If you didn't like how you started, you can always say so and I'll just ship you over the joints".

Canada's flush returned tenfold and he shook his head wildly. "No! T–that's not it!" he looked to the side, trying to reign control on his embarrassment. "J–just don't do it with cigars!" he hastily added, eyes widening at the prospect.

He would surely _not_ like that.

"So you don't want to try a cigar, too? To see which one wins you over?"

Canada blanched out and backed away, tightening his grip on Kumajirou. "I think it's time I go back home" he smiled warily, coughing his uneasiness down and failing as he watched Cuba grin evilly at him.

"You should try out your priorities, who knows? You'll end up liking cigars".

"No! I mean, no, thanks, I really should–"

Cuba took a long, painfully long drag of his cigar. And stepped forwards.

"D–don't you dare!"

Another step.

Canada squealed and took off, running away.

Andrès chuckled, and puffing out the smoke, took off to chase the Canadian down. "Maybe _I'll_ win you over then" he yelled out, voice rough with laughter.

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_Croquetas_: small cylinders of paste, made with a heavy bechamel sauce and ground beef, ham, chicken, fish, or cheese, covered with breadcrumbs and deep fried.

_papas rellenas_: fried potato balls filled with ground beef.

_Mojito_: Cuban cocktail made of sugar, green lime, soda, some herbs, Ron Blanco (Havana club), ice cubes and more soda water.


End file.
